A flash of gold amongst the grey
by gowerstreet
Summary: A year after RBF. John has begun to move on. One night, on his way home fron a shift at A&E, he discovers that the world is a great deal smaller than he expected.John, Mrs H, Lestrade, Mycroft. Rated T for further developments  All credit due to ACD/SM/MG
1. Chapter 1

Twelve months on. Sat on the Northern Line heading south towards Kings Cross on a rapidly emptying train. Eleven thirty pm. The clubbers disappeared at Camden, leaving a scant hard-core population of drunks, shift workers and loners, just like John, scattered throughout the train.  
>His eyes slid shut. He was permanently tired these days, rarely sleeping for more than an hour at a time. Sleeping meant dreaming, Dreaming meant remembering the bloodstain on a London pavement left by a plummeting body. Alcohol helped, but not always. Cat naps were preferable, when he was never asleep long enough to dream.<br>This time, he awoke to stillness and near darkness. The disorientation faded as he inhaled the scent of Tube dust and brake fluid. There was a flicker of light further down the carriage from the phone of a woman sat with her back to him. The vividness of the phone screen gave her the suggestion of a halo, illuminating her with a brittle whiteness.  
>Another scent arose, wandering between aromatic and acrid. Smoke. John's tiredness snapped away. He pulled out his phone and used it as a torch to locate the alarm. The smoke was visible now, drifting through the open windows at the carriage ends, He tried to work out how far they were from Euston. A matter of yards at a guess, but with no real chance of escape unless the driver responded. <p>

Which he did, just before John's hand touched the alarm. "Ladies and gentleman, we apologise for the delay. This is due to an electrical fault. We will get moving in a few minutes, but this train will terminate at Euston."  
>John sat down as the lights returned. The smoke was still there, like an unpleasant whisper. Why hadn't the mentioned it? Perhaps he didn't know. Perhaps he didn't want to cause a panic amongst his quietly exhausted passengers.<br>The train began lurching forward into Euston. As the doors opened, it was clear that they had arrived in the middle of a security alert. Transport police and Underground officials awaited them on the platform. The smell of smoke intensified, although its source was unclear.  
>John joined the weary stragglers as they left the platform and snaked off towards the escalators. The scent of smoke followed them vaguely. As he trudged onto the escalator, the sudden closeness of others tightened his chest. He could feel the panic rising in his chest. His leg grew watery. His right palm grew slick with sweat. His grip on the handrail became increasingly insecure. He was not even halfway to the top. It was all too easy to visualise the ridged contours of the tread below, beneath and behind him, constantly moving. There were people behind him too. If he fell, so would they, like a pile of broken dominoes. God help the one at the bottom.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

He must not fall. He must not fall.  
>He focused on the handrail, gripping on until his knuckles whitened in desperation. His hand slipped on the rail, and he sagged back at the knees. He waited for the falling to start, and dreaded the bite of the treads on his scalp.<br>But they didn't. He felt the imprint of a hand, fingers spread like a starfish, supporting the middle of his back. "Lean. Breathe. I will not let you fall." A soft, low, female voice. Calm, almost to the point of hypnotic. "You've got about a minute before we reach the top. Can you walk?"  
>His mouth dried as he tried to slow his breathing. His shoulders began to shake. The ticket hall was rising into sight, but he could no longer trust his legs. The pressure of the hand disappeared, and the strength of his good leg went it. His whole body wavered for a second snaked between his left arm and his waist. A feminine arm in a fine grey wool coat. A cool hand starfished his across his diaphragm to steady him.<br>"The trick is to keep breathing," came the calm, low voice. "Lean if you need to. I will not let you fall." John's breathing slowed. His legs began to feel a little less like traitors.  
>The escalator finished its climb. He only needed to take one step, and he would be back on the flat grimy floor. He willed his good leg to move forward and found that he could trust it. Its partner followed reluctantly.<br>The arm around his waist loosened its grip slightly, John headed to one side so that he could regain his breath and composure. The arm slipped away but he sensed she was just out of reach, waiting in case he still needed her. One of the station staff approached him. "Are you alright, mate?" he asked.  
>"Ahm, yes," said John. "Went a bit dizzy. Fine now thanks." The man nodded and went back to shepherding travellers out of his station.<br>John fumbled for his Oyster card. It was then that he realised that the woman who had stopped his fall had melted wordlessly into the crowds. She couldn't have gone far, but he had no idea where. Shrugging, he went through the barriers and made his way out of the station.  
>The earlier rain had dried up, enclosing London with a canopy of light-polluted orange clouds. The air felt cools and clear. John weighed up his options. A cab? A night bus, or another Tube from Euston Square? Failing that, he could walk. The panic that had frozen his leg passed, and now he felt stiff. There were dozens of people on the street as a result of the evacuation, most of whom were trailing their way up the Euston Road. He needed the air, so decided to walk the rest of the way. Looking both ways, he crossed over and headed for Baker Street.<br>He paused at the Tottenham Court junction, waiting for the lights to change. He'd escaped two hazards tonight, and had no intention of tempting fate. Something made him look to his right. A figure in a fine grey coat was also waiting to cross. John discreetly glanced at her. Fractionally taller than him in her heels. Straight chestnut hair covering her shoulders. A vivid silk and velvet scarf threatening to escape from her neck. In the flash of oncoming headlights, it shone like a flash of gold amongst the grey. He realised that he was staring, and strategically shifted his gaze, hoping she hadn't noticed his intrusion.

The lights changed from green to red. At the first possible instant, they moved in unconscious symmetry. John was now acutely aware of her. He was almost certain that she had been the one to support him on the escalator. However, it didn't seem appropriate to accost a woman to whom he hadn't spoken. Making the first move was not something he enjoyed at the best of times. Still, intrigued, he slowed just enough to watch her walk across the road ahead of him.  
>There as a wail of poorly applied brakes. A blue Micra with blacked out windows careered directly into her path. The scarf fluttered off her shoulder. The car swept past, radio blaring, followed by a Mini. The first car managed to miss her by inches. The second one didn't. It sent her flying backwards. There was a sickening thud as her head met the tarmac.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

John knelt by her, oblivious to the changing lights and the approaching traffic. She was crumpled on her side in front of him. Blood trickled from a cut on her temple. Carefully, he took hold of her hand and held it, discreetly taking her pulse. She moved her head fractionally. "Hang on. Help's coming." He fumbled wrong-handedly for his phone, and was about to use it when he became aware of blue flashing lights. The police were already here. A figure approached him.  
>A familiar voice. "An ambulance is on its way." The figure shielded his eyes with his hands, then hurried over. Lestrade. "Christ, are you OK, John?"<br>John nodded. "Think so. She isn't. Two cars jumped the lights, and the second one caught her. She's got a head injury, and probably multiple fractures, judging by the way she landed."  
>"I'll let Dispatch know. We'd been chasing these buggers for some time." He headed back towards his car. John looked across, and saw Donovan hurrying towards her boss. Lestrade made a call while she snapped on some gloves and started searching the accident site. She passed close by John, saying nothing but he could see the disdain on her face.<br>Where the hell was that ambulance?  
>He turned his attention to the woman on the ground. He guided her hair away from her, the better to see if it concealed further injuries. She inched her towards him, but he stopped her. "Just lie still. You'll be ok. Keep holding my hand. " He hoped she couldn't detect the undertone of concern in his voice.<br>Donovan approached him. She was carrying a scuffed handbag and a vibrant silky scarf. "I take these are hers," she said to John. "Was she with you? "  
>"Not exactly. I think she came out of Euston, like I did when it was cleared for the security alert. She reached the crossing just ahead of me."<br>Donovan humphed. She opened the bag to look for ID.  
>Lestrade joined her. "Who is she? "<br>"Agnes Reynard, according to her licence. I've got uniform on the way so they can clear the road and do an evidence sweep."  
>"Thanks Donovan. " She walked briskly back to the car. Lestrade came over to John. John kept talking quietly to Agnes, as he now knew her to be. His voice was calm, but the concern was clear on his face.<br>The paramedics arrived. He moved away to let them work, and realised he was shaking. Lestrade wrapped him in a blanket and guided him to the back of the ambulance. "I'm fine," John protested.  
>"No, you're not. Now stay there. We'll take your statement shortly."<br>John sagged back heavily on the seat. He could see the paramedics working on Agnes in the near distance. One of them approached him.  
>"Right. Your turn. First of all, can I have your details?" John told him. The paramedic smiled.<br>"Thought I recognised you. I started off at Barts. Used to see you and your partner all the time." The paramedic checked him over , talking throughout. "He was a good man, if not of this planet. You must miss him." John nodded, trying not to think what Sherlock would have been doing in a scene like this. "Right. You're all done. " He initialled his pad then stowed it away. John shrugged out of the blanket and folded it up.  
>Agnes was now being wheeled towards the ambulance. John got out of the way and watched. "Where will you take her?" he asked. "UCH. It's closest. Cheers , Doc."<br>John stood back and watched the ambulance drive off, lights flashing but siren less. Lestrade touched his arm. He handed a cardboard cup of tea to John. "Right. Back to my car. We'll get this statement down, and then I'll drop you home."  
>John gave his brief statement. He had seen the accident at close range. He could identify the cars, but not the drivers. The woman, Agnes, was a stranger to him, but he thought she might have come out of Euston at the same time as him. Lestrade wrote down the key details, then went off to get an update from Donovan.<br>John sipped the tea, glad for its warmth if not its taste. It felt weird to be here without Sherlock, who always seemed to be just out of reach, as though he'd run around a corner and was waiting for him to catch up. John knew this couldn't be the case; his scientific brain knew it was just wish fulfilment and sleep deprivation, no matter how painful to think otherwise.  
>He was staring into space when Lestrade returned. "Right. Time to go. Where had you been tonight?" he asked.<br>"I'd just finished a shift at The Whittington. They call me in when they're short. Nothing drastic. It passes the time and covers the rent."  
>"I see. How's Mrs Hudson?"<br>"Surviving. We keep an eye on each other."  
>They lapsed into silence. Half past twelve in the morning. The car purred on through the quietening streets.<br>He pulled into Baker Street and rolled to a stop. Lestrade turned to John. "Shame about the circumstances, but good to see you again."  
>"You too, "John agreed. "Thanks for the lift."<br>"No worries. Just don't be a stranger."  
>"I'll try not to be. Bye." The car purred away.<br>John slipped through the front door and upstairs as quietly, avoiding the creaks wherever possible.  
>Mrs Hudson had been in. She had left a biscuit tin alongside some post. He prised off the lid. Cheese scones. But now it was time for bed.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

John was woken up by the incessant reversing beep of a delivery lorry. His skin felt dry to the point of irritation and he was ravenous, but he seemed to have slept well for a change. Obviously he needed to kneel in the traffic more often.  
>Shower first, then breakfast .. He could still taste the Tube dust in the back of his throat, and his hair felt greasy. Nothing that a solid five minutes under the shower wouldn't fix.<br>Lestrade texted him about an hour later.  
><em>Morning. Just heard from Agnes Reynard is conscious. She'd like to speak to you. Are you up for it? GL<em>  
>John drained his tea and replied.<br>_Good to hear it. Thanks for letting me know, Did you get the bastards who tried to clean her up? JW_  
><em>We didn't, but Traffic on the A1 did. Want to meet up for a pint? GL<em>  
><em>Sure. Text me when you're free. JW<em>  
>John checked the UCH website for visiting hours, then headed downstairs. Mrs Hudson was in the lounge when he let himself in "Morning," he shouted.<br>"Morning dear." Mrs Hudson was waiting with two cups of tea on a tray. Come and sit down."  
>John did as he was told. They hadn't seen each other for several days, and the mutual air of concern had to be dismissed somehow. She sat down and sipped her tea.<br>"Thank you for the scones. They were a nice surprise."  
>"It's lovely to have someone to share them with. She paused. "And how was Inspector Lestrade?"<br>So she had noticed his arrival last night. "Oh, his usual self."

"I thought you were up at the Whittington last night. Don't tell me he pulled you out on a case after your shift."  
>"No." And with that, John filled her in on the events of the night, leaving out his panic and near collapse on the escalator. She had already lost one dear boy and he didn't want to add to her worries.<br>Mrs Hudson put on her most sympathetic face. "How is the young lady?"  
>"Conscious and talking. Wanting to see me, apparently. I'm going over to UCH a bit later on."<br>"Is she pretty?" she asked with a faint glimmer. John rolled his eyes.  
>"Believe it or not, I was more concerned with making sure she was ok. She was only just ahead of me on the crossing. "<br>"Lucky for her you were there. What time are you going to the hospital?"  
>"General visiting starts at two."<br>Mrs Hudson examined his appearance. "Well you've got time to change your shirt before then."  
>"This is not a date. She asked to see me, that's all. Maybe she just wants to say thank you."<br>"Perhaps. But you shouldn't pass opportunity to meet new people."  
>"Being witness to a hit and run is not the new speed dating. She asked me to see her and I said that I would." John suddenly found the pattern of the paisley carpet desperately fascinating.<br>Mrs Hudson couldn't resist one last attempt. "What's her name?  
>"Agnes."<br>"Beautiful name." She looked across at him. "Will you drop in later to tell me how it went?"  
>"Of course. See you later."<br>"Bye. Don't forget to change your shirt. Make a good impression."  
>John humphed, then nodded. He'd never hear the last of it if he didn't.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

He reached the ward at half past two. He was directed to a side room by a nurse sat at the desk.  
>Agnes was propped up in bed. Two strips of steri-tape bisected one eyebrow like a clumsy tattoo. Her right arm was in a high sling. Her collarbone had clearly taken more of the impact than he realised. Her left arm was bruised and a little swollen. She had been looking at the window when she heard him enter. She acknowledged him with a smile. "Daylight suits you." That calm, low, clear voice. It reverberated through him. He sat in one of the visitor chairs.<br>"Well, you're looking better than you did last night. "We haven't been formally introduced. I'm John Watson, Ms Reynard."  
>"Agnes, please."<br>John looked down at his hands in his laps and then around the room. "Do you make a habit of rescuing strangers on escalators?"  
>"I didn't fancy being caught in a game of human dominoes. Holding you up seemed to be the most sensible thing to do." They both smiled. "Actually, keeping you upright stopped me from panicking, if I'm honest . That smoke really scared me. " A glint appeared in her eyes. "And how often do you kneel in the middle of a busy junction to hold a stranger's hand?"<br>"Only when required. Focusing on someone else to contain your own feelings seems to be a common tactic. Blame it on the Hippocratic oath."  
>Agnes tried to laugh then winced. "Ribs?" he asked. She nodded.<br>"Do you want me to get someone?"  
>"No thanks. I don't think they can give me anything else right now. I think my pillow might have slipped. Could you adjust it for me?" He was on his feet immediately.<br>"How's that? " he asked, as he shuffled the pillows behind her, doing his best to avoid additional pain. For all of her initial banter, it was clear to his experienced eyes how shaken she remained, having come within inches of something worse.  
>"Have they said how long they want to keep you in?"<br>"As short a time as possible. I am the world's worst patient. If I didn't ache so much, I'd be up and about already."  
>"It's probably best you stay in bed for at least a couple of days. Believe me, the more you rest, the better you'll feel in the long run."<br>John had run out of platitudes, and briefly wished he as one of those suave gits who had a line for every occasion. He suddenly felt as though he was wrong side of sixteen again, desperate to impress a girl he fancied. Small talk was not his style.  
>"Have you had many visitors?" he asked.<br>"My parents drove up from Suffolk to check how I was, then went back to make sure Ethel was alright." Ethel? Child? Partner?  
>"Ethel," she explained , " is a rather opinionated tortoiseshell who deigns to allow me to pay her mortgage. She came with the house and I hadn't the nerve or the heart to evict her. Dad pretends to hate her, but he's always secretly pleased when she takes over his lap."<br>"Sounds like every cat I've ever known. Where's home?"  
>"I've got a flat not far from Vauxhall. It's surprisingly quiet once you screen out the sirens and police helicopters."<br>"You get used to them after a while. I'm in Marylebone."  
>"Very nice. Are you in a flat share?"<br>"More like a property guardian really. The building belongs to an older lady who lives downstairs. We have…" The words dried in his mouth. He took a breath and started again. "I did have a flatmate. A good friend, but we lost him a year ago." He swallowed and stared at the ceiling for a moment.  
>Agnes reached out and very gently touched his sleeve as if it would break. "I'm sorry. You were obviously very close."<br>He acknowledged her touch with a nod, but his mind was racing. Was he talking to the only person in London who didn't know about the recent past, or was she just being tactful?  
>"It's not been the best year," he admitted, glad for once that he wasn't being faced with the twenty questions routine about Sherlock.<br>"Where do you work?" she asked. Back onto safer territory.  
>"I float between a number of London hospitals, covering absences in A&amp;E. And you?"<br>I'm a PA for a children's charity in Waterloo. I sort the mail, tame the computer and make the coffee. Very occasionally, I get to dress up and run fundraising events. I was just coming back from one in Highgate last night."  
>"I was just coming back from a shift at the Whittington."<br>"Are you working tonight?"  
>"Not so far. They've seen rather a lot of me this week. I'm hoping for a quiet night with some brain rot television. Nothing too exciting, unless it's happening on Albert Square."<br>The door opened, and an older version of Agnes came in. "Hi Mum, this is Dr John Watson, who, helped me last night."  
>Mrs Reynard took John's hand in both of hers. "Thank you so much." Her eyes were threatening to tear.<br>"I was just glad to be of help. Nice to meet you. Agnes, is it ok if I drop past tomorrow?"  
>"Sure. Anything to save me from Jeremy Kyle and the curse of daytime television! Take care. Goodbye."<br>"Goodbye. " They both smiled at him as he left.  
>John stopped at the ward desk. The same nurse was still there. He waited until she had finished typing before asking about Agnes,<br>"She's doing much better than we initially expected. Thankfully she's got a very hard head. Concussion, broken collarbone, a couple of cracked ribs and the usual cuts and bruises. I think we might keep her a couple more days, depending on what the Reg thinks. "  
>John thanked her and was turning to go when he felt someone touch his arm. "Doctor Watson?"<br>"Yes?" He turned to face an older man with sharp, grey eyes. He was not much taller than John, but his personality filled that corridor. "My name is Andrew Reynard. My wife and I are profoundly grateful for the assistance you gave Agnes last night."  
>"As I said to your wife, I would have done it for anyone." Well, almost.<br>Nevertheless," continued the older man. "You cannot imagine how precious she is to me. Please let me know if I can help you in any way. You're a good man, and there are precious few around today." He passed John a card, nodded to him, then went in to see his daughter.  
>John turned the card over in his hands. Andrew Reynard, Criminologist. No address, but John recognised the phone number. The Home Office.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was trying to break through the afternoon murk as he left the hospital. He was glad Agnes was improving. He was looking to seeing her tomorrow.  
>His phone quacked. Mrs Hudson had finally succumbed to the mobile phone, if not to text language itself. Her messages were like electronic calligraphy.<br>_-John, dearest, I'm out of coffee and milk. Could you please pick up some on the way home? Many thanks, Mrs H_  
><em>-No problem- JW<em>  
>He took a short detour to pick up the shopping, and was just leaving the shop when a sleek black car snaked alongside. Mycroft.<br>There was no point attempting to ignore him. The rear passenger door opened, and John climbed in. "What I have done this time?" he asked the man in the immaculate brown suit.  
>"You were quite the hero last night. Agnes Reynard is my goddaughter. "<br>"Small world. I guess her private room was down to you."  
>"Not this time. Her initial condition warranted it. "A pause. "Thank you."<br>"You're the third person to say that to me today. She owes more to the paramedics and A&E than me. All I did was hold her hand and talk to her. Nothing heroic."  
>This was getting distinctly uncomfortable with all of this undeserved praise. It seemed to be much easier to stay under the radar.<br>"Andrew Reynard is a very influential man. He's a good ally."  
>"And a dangerous enemy?"<br>"Possibly, especially where his daughter is concerned."  
>John frowned. "Are you trying to warn me off?"<br>"Oh no, no. Just tread carefully. She is all they have now."  
>"Just what are you inferring?"<br>"Only that your previous romantic attachments have not ended well."  
>Ouch. John's anger built. "My personal life is none of your business. Don't you think that your meddling has done me enough damage?"<br>Silence. Mycroft glanced at him. "I supposed I deserved that." He looked across at John. "I have precious little family remaining. I want to protect those who are left. That includes you."  
>Difficulty built on difficulty. Mycroft appeared to be getting out of his emotional depth. John relented.<br>"I appreciate that you mean well, but I need to do this on my own."  
>Mycroft admitted defeat. The car slowed and John got out to walk the last yards to 221.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

"Well?" asked Mrs Hudson over the Eastenders credits.

"Well, I went to see her."  
>"And?"<p>

"They are really impressed with her progress. We had a chat. Nice girl. Met her parents."  
>"Ooh. That was quick. I hope they were grateful for what you did."<br>"They were. As was someone else." He took a drink of his coffee. "Mycroft."

"What did he want?"  
>"He's Agnes' godfather, Appears to be very fond of her, as much as he can be of anyone."<br>"What are her parents like?"  
>"Only met them briefly. Mother seems nice enough. Her father works for the Home Office- I guess that is where the Mycroft connection comes in."<br>"Well, are you going to see her again?"  
>"I said I'd drop past tomorrow. She said she needed some respite from daytime television.<br>"See," said Mrs Hudson with a hint of hope in her voice. "Well worth changing your shirt. Baby steps are better than none."  
>John pulled a face, but he knew she was right. "We'll see. I've got a day off tomorrow. I've got a mountain of washing to sort out. I'll drop past in a couple of days."<br>"Ok dear. Take care."  
>John plodded upstairs and unlocked his door. The flat smelt of synthetic flowers. He flicked the light switch to find that the sofa was covered in neatly stacked washing. Mrs Hudson had obviously been very busy while he was out. No wonder she had sent him to Tesco.<p>

Agnes lay back on her pillows, trying to find the most comfortable position. Not particularly easy. The gradual reduction of her pain relief had meant that she was becoming more aware of her injuries. Her bruises were developing, especially across her back, although she was yet to see them.

Her parents had spent an hour with her. They had brought fresh nightclothes as well as news of Ethel, who seemed none the worse for wear for not seeing her. Fickle creature.

She was about to switch off the light when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she said quietly. A tall man in a brown suit slipped in, carrying an elegant arrangement of purple irises. He placed them on her bedside. "How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked.  
>"I've been better, but everyone's been so kind."<br>"You have given us quite a scare. I would have come sooner, but I felt best to wait until your parents had been. I didn't want to crowd the situation."  
>"Thanks." She didn't quite know how to phrase the next question. "Is John Watson who I think he is?"<br>"Yes."  
>"Thought I recognised him from the media coverage. He was on my train, looking utterly exhausted. When we were evacuated at Euston, I found myself behind him on the escalator. Poor guy was about to have a panic attack. I managed to keep him upright until we got safely to the ticket hall, then left him to regain his composure. It didn't seem the right time to talk, if I'm honest. I didn't know what to say. "<br>"When did see him again?"  
>"At the Tottenham Court Road junction. There was a quite a crowd of people who'd come off the Tube, wandering along in small groups. I became aware of him glancing across at me, more out of curiosity than anything else. I wanted to get home to Ethel which was why I sped up. I never saw those cars. They jumped the lights. I remember the glare of the headlights, and the screech of the brakes. My scarf fell off and I was knocked flying.<br>"I was on my back in the tarmac. My head span, and I so wanted to sleep, but I then I felt someone touch the side of my neck, then pick up my hand. He kept saying 'Don't worry, help's coming. Keep squeezing my hand. You've been hit by a car, but you'll be alright. Hold on' - So I did,."  
>"Did he know you were behind him on the escalator?"<br>"He suspected, I think but didn't say anything. He didn't leave me until the paramedics arrived, and only left when he got ordered away to get checked out."  
>Mycroft had been listening in utter stillness, He realised that he another reason to be grateful to John, and regretted being so high-handed earlier.<p>

"What did your parents make of him?"  
>Mum was delighted. She liked the look of him. Lovely manners, she said. Dad was quieter. He said they'd spoken briefly. John said he's come back tomorrow. I hope he does."<br>"He will. He's a man of his word. But be careful. He has felt Sherlock's loss deeply."  
>"He mentioned it in passing, but I didn't want to press him. it just wasn't fair. Does he know about you?"<br>"I spoke to him this afternoon. He wasn't best pleased to see me. He still blames me for what happened to Sherlock and he still has got some way to go."  
>"So are you adding matchmaker to your official roles?" Mycroft almost smiled.<br>"Not quite, but do your best to befriend him. He doesn't make friends easily, but he's loyal and he's fair. Both of you have spent far too long alone lately."  
>"Is that an order? "<p>

"More like Godfatherly advice. Now go to sleep." He leant across and gently kissed her unbruised cheek.  
>"Yes, Godpappa. Goodnight."<br>"Goodnight my dear." Mycroft slipped down the corridor to the lift. He hoped that some of his advice would be taken.


	8. Chapter 8

John was dreaming again. He was back on the Northern Line, surrounded by smoke, the escalator loomed ahead and this time, there was no calm voice or gentle had at his back to steady him.  
>He tumbled backwards into other passengers. Their screams echoed in his ears. He lifted his hands and they were dripping with sweat and blood. He tumbled back onto the smoky platform and cracked his head against the floor.<p>

He awoke on the floor, gasping and sweating. His head ached and disturbingly moist. He put a hand gingerly to his scalp and felt for fresh injuries. His hand came back clammy with sweat not blood.

The floor was icy. John climbed back into bed and rearranged his pillows. He stared at the moon in the crack of the curtains until his eyes grew heavy, hoping that Agnes was more comfortable than he was.

Mycroft's phone vibrated three times.  
><em>-How's J?<em>  
><strong>Quietly heroic. Saved Agnes from a hit and run. First on scene, held her hand, kept her calm. You'd have been proud.<strong>  
><em>-Never thought otherwise. All OK?<em>  
><strong>Yes, but he still misses you. As do I. <strong>  
><em>-But you know I'm OK - he doesn't.<em>  
><strong>How much longer?<strong>  
><em>-All over soon. Be patient.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

The morning brought stiffness and bruising. John staggered into the shower and let the scalding water pound against his body. What could he take to distract Agnes this afternoon? When he wandered out of the shower, he spotted a familiar box on top of his wardrobe. That would do it. He couldn't wait until two o'clock.

Agnes looked considerably brighter today. She was out of bed, her legs covered by a blanket. There was more colour in her cheeks, and her hair looked neat and smooth. A mixed collection of vases stuffed with flowers decorated the windowsill. "Someone's popular," he joked.  
>"A combination of family, friends and the floral displays from the fundraiser. When my team found out, they went into overdrive. They're gorgeous, but I might ask the nurses to do a little bit of floral distribution for the benefit of the rest of the ward." What have you got there?"<br>"No flowers, I'm afraid. However, I think you'll like it." He put down his box and unpacked it to reveal a Scrabble set.  
>"I like the way you think." She watched as he set up the game board.<br>She placed her opening word - BEING.  
>Highly respectable. He counted up the score and noted it down. How about this?" SNARK.<br>"As in The Hunting of the …"  
>"Exactly. If we can use words invented by Shakespeare, A few by Lewis Carroll can't hurt, although bandisnatch and momewrath might stretch it somewhat." She smiled. .<br>They fell into the rhythm of the game. And john soon realised that he was up against a formidable opponent, He has always viewed himself as a tactical player, but he was nothing in comparison to Agnes. It was almost as good as being beaten by Sherlock...However, after the second victory, John admitted defeat, and they packed up the tiles. Agnes felt it was time to confess.  
>"I wasn't entirely straight with you yesterday. I recognised you on sight, when you got into my carriage at Archway. I didn't say anything because you looked like you needed the privacy."<p>

He had known this would be coming. "So Mycroft didn't frighten you off?"  
>"No. I figured that you'd tell me what you needed to. Besides, it really is none of my business.."<br>"Thank you." Her discretion touched him.

"I was worried and not just about my own skin. I knew I could support you until we reached the top. I was hoping you'd regain enough composure. And you did."  
>"Why didn't you stay?"<br>"I wasn't sure how you'd react. Besides, there wasn't much time for a chat. They wanted us to get out of there. "She glanced up at him. "I lost my nerve."  
>John quirked his eyebrows. "So where does "Lean, Breathe, I will not let you fall' fit into that?" he asked.<br>"You needed to be calmer. It was so hard to anyone struggle like that. I couldn't stand there and let it happen if I could do anything to stop it."  
>"How did you know that I wouldn't react badly? "<br>"I didn't. I took a calculated risk. We were a hundred metres underground and the last thing we all needed was a blind stampede on our best means of escape. I felt it was worth a try." She looked directly at him. You didn't seem dangerous, just enclosed." She didn't pity him, or want to fix him. Her practicality made a positive change from the well-meaning but often trite comments from which he couldn't escape since Sherlock's death.  
>She could almost see the thoughts rolling across his face as he took in what she had said. Now it was her turn to ask the questions.<br>"When did you realise you were following me?"  
>"At the traffic lights. Your scarf caught my eye, and then I noticed the colour of your coat. I didn't say anything in case I alarmed you. After all, it was almost midnight, and you were on your own."<br>"I knew you were watching me."  
>Now he felt sheepish. "I couldn't be sure it was you, I never saw your face. I was hoping you'd say something at the traffic lights, but you never got the chance."<br>"But I'm here because of you. It's all still a bit sketchy, but I remember your hands. They smelt of sanitiser. I couldn't see much other than the street lights and your trousers. I didn't want you to leave, but the paramedics had other ideas."  
>"I was in the way. I knew I'd done as much as I could. I hoped it was enough.".<br>"So does that make us quits, John?"  
>"I suppose so." A comfortable silence developed between them. John's phone rumbled in his pocket. Instinctively, he pulled it out. Lestrade. That could wait. The phone went back the way it came.<br>"Everything ok?"

"Yeah. I'll sort it later."  
>"Are you not at work today?"<br>"Nope. The guy I was covering for came back today, so I've got time on my hands before the next placement. I might even get to see some reasonable daylight, if I can avoid the rain."  
>"Would you like to meet for a coffee when they finally let me out?" she asked tentatively.<br>"Love to." John scribbled his mobile number onto the back of the scrabble score page. he folded the paper and put it on her bedside cabinet..  
>His phone quacked. He jumped, and she tried not to laugh because it would hurt. "You seem to be in demand."<br>"Unfortunately. I'd better go. Anyway, you've got my number. See you soon."  
>"Thanks for the Scrabble. Better than flowers any day."<br>"Don't tell your admirers that - they've got florists to keep in business."  
>She gave him a mock agonised glance. "Laughing hurts. Stop it. See you soon."<br>"Bye."


End file.
